The Golden Eyed Muse
by Humida
Summary: a short one shot about ophelia. saved by a golden eyed woman lews is new to the country and unfamiliar with claymores or the monsters in tolouse. ophelia is all to happy to have him learn.


GOLDEN EYED MUSE

As the creature slams him to the floor, its fetid breath thick against his skin, small yellow eyes glowing and jaws salivating on the stone floor, Lews thinks he's breathed his last and prays to the Goddess Clare for deliverance. The reptilian monster snarls, slowly scraping its curved talons across his chest and stripping his shirt away, holding his arms down with its other arm. Lews groans at his inadequacy and curses under his breath. The monster simply laughs, chuckling a deep throaty sound as it raised its claws into the air.

"Please scream," it growls. "It's a pleasure to hear your pitiful mewling."

"Funny," says a woman's cheery voice from behind the creature. "I feel the same way!"

Lews finds himself free of the monster's grip, its arm heading towards the woman when that same arm flops next to him, purple blood spewing from the severed limb. The blood covers him, spilling over him. The monster stands, shrieking in agony.

"Ah," says the woman, now standing next to him. "Poor baby!"

"You bitch!" the monster shrieks, lunging towards her with its one remaining arm. The limb disintegrates before Lews, dropping more blood on his drenched body. He shakes and coughs, too scared to really scream.

The woman he notes looks pale white with a long braid of hair and light armor. But beyond this he can't tell anything. She moves too fast.

"Please..." the monster begs. "Spare me!"

The woman laughs, a tinkling noise that sounds like chimes and the monster shrieks, the legs beneath him toppling from under him. "Oh how cute," says the woman, walking quietly towards it, its face now streaming with pain filled tears. "Please..." it begs. "Spare me!"

"I thought you liked begging?" she says, lifting her blade.

"No!" it howls. "Wai..."

The blade comes down, caving its skull in. She twist the blade, wrenching it out of the creature and stares wickedly, smiling at the dripping blood. Her eyes glow a vibrant yellow, like the fires of a sun, and her smile almost matches the monster's.

Her smile falters and she lets the blade swing down. "Damn. That was boring. Stupid 46 got killed by these things and I had to waste my time? Shit."

Lews cleans his face off, wiping off the blood. "Th-thank ..."

The blade swings towards him. "What are you doing?" she turns with a sparkle to her eyes, some madness to them that is most assured. Her smile is wide, teeth sparkling. "Do you want to play too?"

"N-no... I..."

He swallows. Mad she may be, but the tight fitting clothes around her hips and chest accentuate her features. And her eyes, that ethereal yellow. It captures his attention most.

"Your eyes. They are very beautiful."

"What?" she says, her gaze faltering, the coloration shifting from the deep gold to a shining silver, much like the snows.

"Strange, how do you change them like that?"

"I'm a silver eyed warrior," says the woman with snarl. "What? You not familiar with us?"

Lews runs his hand through his unkempt hair and glances at the blood he'd just wiped through it. "Forgive me," he says, shaking his head and shaking his hand to lose some of the blood. "I am a bit new to these parts. Came by ship not a week ago. But I have not seen one like you..."

He glances at her, her sharp angular face and sharp ears. Those ears twitch, following his movements. He rubs his chin, considering.

"I do not have much... to pay you with. But... I would love to capture your beauty." perhaps her eyes most of all. "If I could have you acquiesce to it I'll give you the painting that I complete."

"You're a painter?" she says.

"Yes. Lews Therin at your service my lady."

She burst out laughing and shakes her head. "I don't need to waste my time here. Bye. I've got better things to do."

She turns on her heel then and walks out from the alley she'd found him in. He follows her shadow, watching it go and looks himself over. His upper torso is covered in the purple smear. He looks filthy. Tearing away his ripped shirt, he cleans himself quickly, as best he can.

Flies already buzz around the dead corpse. Its wide eyes look hollowly towards him, mouth agape, pleading for salvation. "You wouldn't have given me any, would you," says Lews with some bitterness.

He wraps the shirt in a ball and tosses it at the creature's corpse, walking out from the alley way back into the town. None pay much attention to him aside from snubbing their noses and giving him space. He still had enough blood to stand out, but aside from the comments it isn't much worse then the usual. A starving artist does not get much notice in a small town like this. Besides, most of the comments seem to be guarded. About some silver eyed witch, or claymore as most of the people called it. Some woman it seems.

Another demon, he thinks, by their comments. It takes him only ten more minutes to get to his small home. A small apartment of stone with a few of his supplies and simple bed, a stove to the left. He is about to shut the door finding it caught against a large stone. "Damn it," he curses, turning to kick the stone.

Her turns only to be inches away from that golden gaze, a wicked smile playing on the woman's lips. She pushes the door open the rest of the way and walks in. "So this is your home eh? Cozy."

She walks over to the small bed, slumping down on it and kicking up her heels.

"You.. Uh..."

"You promised me a painting," she says, looking at her nails. "So... paint."

"I.. Yes... I'll just shower and get..."

The sword imbedding itself in the wall only a few inches from his arm makes him jump. Her face is again inches from him.

"Nah..." she says, smiling, running a finger down his chest where blood still lies against his skin. "I like you this way." She flicks her finger and places it in her mouth, sucking on it gently. Lews watches, entranced by her manic actions, her rose bud lips very close to him. Always too quiet to act on his whims regarding women, this one shocks him very much but moves his insides.

"Uh... what are you doing here?" he asks, trying to step around her and gathering the supplies he'll need for the painting.

"I want a painting," she says, stretching and going back to sit on the bed. "Like you promised."

"But.."

She glares at him, her eyes that deep yellow, even in the dark room and he nods. Best not to upset her. She may not be human.

He sets the easel and begins to apply the paints. The first layer of white paint, setting up water from the bucket he still has from the day before.

"Do you wish for a full a body nude," he asks, "or something more..."

She laughs. "Not many guys have the guts to asks me to fuck. You've got balls."

"I..."

"Shut up and paint. I doubt you'd have the balls to do it anyways. Most of you guys are pussies."

"So you have many men..."

"Yeah... but none have the guts to get past first base. Not that I let that stop me all the time."

I can not believe they would refuse a flower like yourself," he says, adding the first colors to the palette.

"Flower? Man, are you out of your league! Well... you are a foreigner. Where you from, I haven't seen anyone that dark before."

"Italy," he answers. "The Eastern continent. Across the oceans."

"Bullshit," she says. "No one crosses that water. No one."

"You have not seen ships?" he asks.

She narrows her vision and glares at him, her eyes glowing again. Silver or gold, they always shine. "Just shut up and paint."

He does as told, watching her, painting. It is difficult and he has to tell her to move her head back into position at different points to which she yells but corrects her stance. It is frustrating as she walks over and looks at the painting several times, not generally waiting many minutes before doing so.

Finally boring, she leans back and sighs, folding her arms and ignoring her request. "Got any family?"

"No," he says. "They all remained in Italy. Those that were alive. My mother died years ago and my father is close to his deathbed. I decided I wanted a change and came to this small island. That and to escape the war my father wanted me to attend. I am not one for wars."

"So just running away from the war? What a pussy," she says, the chiming lilt in her voice again.

"Something like that. And you... any family?"

"Do I look like I have family," she growls.

"We all have family, even if we don't like them."

"I had an asshole brother who got himself killed. Even had a fucking smile while that bitch gored him."

His brush stops on the canvas and he pulls back. "I.. Am sorry to hear that."

"You know what," she says, stalking over to him and knocking the painting aside. "I'm sick of this crap. You say you're more macho then the others and I'm bored as all hell. So either we can play or I can play with you."

The smile on her lips gives him no room to argue. Her hands on him on the bed are rough, much like the monster's. He is surprised by her strength. He had not imagined a woman with such power, but then he hadn't imagined monsters on a foreign land any more then he'd imagined their creation on the continent. Safety seemed to be an argueble dream.

As the woman undresses he sees her malformity in the dark. A tissue of pink flesh branching out from her navel to the upper region of her chest.

"Is this from the war," he asks, surprised by how ghastly it looks.

"Nah. Just something they do to us."

"Who," he asks. "They should be punished and hanged for harming one as fair as you."

"You still have that butterfly tongue don't you? Well... I guess you do have more balls."

She leans down kissing him roughly in a tumble of sheets and bodies. It is she who manages to keep control through the whole affair, her rocking a wild passion. It is long and arduous, but one journey he does not wish to end. Unfortunately, like all things, it does end.

Morning comes too soon and the woman is already dressed and walking out the door. "Will you come back?" he asks, unsure where such a woman goes.

She shrugs and looks back at him. "Don't have any plans to. Keep the paint job, it looks like shit. At least you were kind of fun."

She waves and walks off, her boots clacking on the hard floor. Lews looks down at the broken canvas, the painting a matted mess. He takes another canvas out and begins to work. There is something he must do now...

Two weeks later, a woman sits against his bed, nude, her blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. She is a duchess from the duke of the small town and she looks over at the painting he has lying against the wall. The day is warm, the noon day sun bright and the rays waft through the windows, heating all inside.

"What a ghastly looking woman," she says. "Does she really look like that?"

He stares at the painting of the silver eyed woman with her long ears and nods. He'd found she was something the villagers called a "claymore" during his two weeks working on her painting. And though knowing she may be some demon he still worked on her painting, night and day as if possessed, as if it could call her. A silly fancy, but he'd captured her gaze perfectly he feels. "That is as I remember her."

"You can do better," says the woman. "I could always have someone pay you or..."

There is a loud banging at his door and Lews drops his paint. "Sorry, excuse me," he says.

"How rude," the woman says, gathering her things. "If my husband hears about.."

The door opens, nearly wrenched off its hinges. Lews looks towards the silver eyed woman and stares, mouth nearly dropping. "Hi there," she says, her smile growing wide. "You still owe me a painting."

He stares slack jawed, not speaking as she walks in making her way towards the small bed. She stares at the woman, her eyes glowing that piercing gold. "You," she growls. "Out. NOW."

The woman stares for a moment, but is quick to move, nearly running out the door. "My husband will hear of this!" she yells.

The elfen woman slashes the floor just behind the woman's heels, laughing. "Oh, how I love it when they run!"

"You came back," says Lews quietly.

"Yeah," she says, "I got bored and you were fun." She walks over to the painting, lifting it to eye level. She gazes at it thoughtfully, her smile never disappearing.

"I guess you don't just do shit, just takes you forever eh?"

"Yes... I was inspired."

She puts the painting aside and smiles, her teeth a shining white and her eyes their golden flame. "Heh. Well then, let me inspire you again. I did say I was bored after all."

That night, like two weeks ago, burns with fire, the flames of her eyes keeping him her slave. And he relishes each moment of it.


End file.
